


The Art of Parting

by wreathed



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:32:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/pseuds/wreathed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two times Stephen left a fake news show, and one time Jon left his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Parting

When you’re busy – permanently hyper-busy for years and years, hardly know another way, never getting through a day without leaving a whole part of the list not ticked off – most things happens around you; the periphery is waiting to be fitted in.

Then and now and in the future, Jon thinks (just around the corner, come on, it’s not like he’s moving to LA or something) Stephen has always been there. 

Sometimes Jon doesn’t think even his wife knows how busy he is.

“I know how busy you are,” she says to him, bending down around her bump to pick up a toy Nathan has left out on the floor, and, you know, that was really fucking idiotic of him, of _course_ she knows how busy he is, she never fucking sees him, and when’s even the last time they spent any time together just themselves?

Jesus. Fuck.

*

He doesn’t gradually see himself get older.

His audience does, he assumes, but he’s too busy. He’s doing day after day after day, and suddenly it’s years later, the _Report_ is taping its last episode ever this evening and Jon looks in the mirror and thinks _fuck, I’m old_.

Stephen looks the same to him. Really, the same.

Until he watches a clip reel they’ve put together for his leaving (ten minutes walk down West Fifty-Fourth and a different network, that’s all it really is) and no, wait, his hair is fluffier, a little less gray back then, and–

That’s him, opposite Stephen, just across the desk.

God Jon’s old, fucking old, and there’s still so many things he hasn’t done. Tick them off the list. Tick tock tick.

*

“It’s a change of pace,” Jon quietly admits down his cell. “But it’s great. I’ve got time, I can write…”

“Well then I'm very happy for you, old man.”

“Ha. Ha. I keep forgetting. I mean, I’m in pajama pants at three thirty in the afternoon, go figure, but Tracey still has to keep coming in and turning off CNN at regular intervals.”

“Someone’s gotta cut the umbilical cord, Jon.”

“Anyways, how are you?” Jon asks, lying across his couch like he’s talking to a shrink. "You good?”

“I’m good. Busy. I forgot how much time a new show takes up. Little nervous.”

“You’ll be fine. Sixteen hundreds, remember? Any discipline, any era. Hey, I should come and see you.”

“Right now? Wouldn’t want to prize you out of those sweats, Stewart. Once you’ve got a comedian into loungewear, it’s difficult to get them out. Take that from a guy with personal experience.”

“What, of getting me out of sweatpants?”

“I’m checking my diary,” Stephen says officiously, though Jon can hear that, tired as he sounds, he’s on the verge of laughing. “Next slot I’ve got available… March 17th, 2016. Oh, but I've got 'sleep' booked as tentative.”

“Sure, I'll join you. Change the drop-down to 'busy'. Nap, Jon Stewart plus Stephen Colbert, March 17th 2016. I'll pencil you in.”

“Talk to you later, Jon.”

“See you, Stephen.”

“Hey, wait! Don’t hang up! Just had a thought.”

“Yeah?”

“You know, if you get bored and you’re looking to get started up again I'm sure we could find you a spot as an intern.”

“That's... pretty hot, actually,” Jon says and that makes Stephen laugh properly at last, and Jon knows what Stephen will be doing now, he’ll be pressing down on his mouth with his fingers to hide the fact that he’s laughing, just like he always did and does and will.


End file.
